


Like We Used To

by ephemeral_vitality



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Angst, Drug Use, Heavy Petting, Jaebum's POV, M/M, MarkJinBum - Freeform, Non-Graphic Smut, One Shot, Post-Break Up, Punk Im Jaebum | JB, Side Hoe Jinyoung, alcohol use, it's like pg-13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-25 11:41:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13833528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeral_vitality/pseuds/ephemeral_vitality
Summary: We stayed quiet for a long time before he stood and walked to me, lips pressing against mine. He pulled away, not wanting to meet my eyes again. I knew it was because he'd come back for a second kiss, and a third, then God knows what else. That's how it's always been, our relationship driven by some unknown force.We were opposites. But we worked. We worked so fucking well. I was the scumbag lead singer of some band, and a music major, and he was on his way to research the world to perfection. Thinking on it now, it was only a matter of time. Not like that made it hurt any less.He took a couple steps back before turning, walking slowly, walking straight, walking over my heart.It was over.✮ One-Shot✯ Punk!Jaebum✮ Jaebum's POV✯ Markbum Main





	Like We Used To

**Author's Note:**

> ok look i wrote this in an hour don't judge too heavily
> 
> i kinda rly like the rock singer theme tho so like i might write more
> 
> this focuses more on thoughts rather than events so it might feel a little slow despite being short
> 
> and even tho im a loyal got7/day6/jyp hoe
> 
> please stan the rose they are my angsty husbands

I let my hand carry out the final strum on the guitar, listening to the distorted chord ring out through the coffee shop. It was met with a short silence before the place erupted in loud applause and cheers. I grabbed the microphone, thanking the visitors for coming to see the performance as they began to scatter around towards the exits. It was more small-scale than we were used to, but it used to be my favorite type of performance. Something about it was so intimate, it was special to be the soundtrack to someone's study date, to their first time visiting a small coffee shop in the city, to their everyday life.

It was still my favorite place to perform- momentarily. As long as I was on the stage, as long as the music was playing, as long as I was singing, then yes, I did enjoy it. What came afterward was what I resented. What came afterward was my involuntary glance down to the left of the stage, and my gratuitous expectation of him sitting there, clapping and waving and smiling, surrounded by his pathology books.

But there was an empty table, and there was no trace of him.

It's been months. Not one part of my body seemed as though it forgot Mark Tuan. And I guess that's just how it happened to be.

Because even though there's no sign of him here with me, he's still everywhere. Every bookshop I pass by, I can't help but to imagine him in there, I can't help but wonder if they have some of his favorites. Every stupid collared sweater I see, I think of him. Every fucking piece of stationary reminds me of his late-night study sessions. If someone even mentions biting their nails, his nervous habit is what I imagine. All the things that used to tick me off suddenly became things I so desperately wanted to see again.

I sang my heart out, words meant entirely for Mark, on each stage. I didn't know why, I think I was hoping that he was there, that he could hear the lyrics and realize what he'd done to me. Even then, I didn't know what that was meant to accomplish.

I had too much to think about as I stepped out of the subway terminal and into the rainfall outside. I looked around before letting out a sigh and tilting my head upwards. Always the forgetful one, I usually relied on Mark to be prepared with an umbrella. It didn't matter. I ran my hands through my hair and ruffled it, feeling rushing people pass me by and letting the water drip down on me.

The pouring rain could never touch me the way Mark did. It could never reach parts of me that only he was able to, it could never embed itself into my mind like he did. I trudged the rest of the way to my apartment, where I didn't expect anything other than a bottle of scotch and maybe a joint. Usually, I'd find comfort in other things, in him, in his touch and his laugh, his words; he always had the right ones. Maybe a couple of strums on my guitar could do the trick, but that was before. Now the only things that worked were mind-altering pleasures, dangerous pleasures, ones that you couldn't get rid of if you wanted to.

I shoved the door open, stumbling into the carpeted area, only to find the lights on. A familiar face turned to look at me from the couch, and I sighed upon noticing the perfectly rolled joints lined up on the coffee table.

"I think you're a little wet there," Jinyoung called, waving me over to him. "Choose your weapon."

I grabbed a glass, pouring out some liquor he had set out, and picked up one of the joints, putting it between my lips and letting him light it.

"I'm not in the mood for whatever you have to offer tonight," I breathed, expelling smoke within my words as I fell back onto the couch.

"You sure?" He asked quietly, moving slowly towards me. He crawled like he was about to attack me. My eyes fleetingly traveled to his pink lips, moist where he licked them. I looked back up to meet his eyes quickly.

"Very."

"How long's it been again?" Jinyoung smugly questioned me, hands tugging at the collar of my shirt as I recoiled from his touch.

"Four months, 11 days, and...6 hours," I murmured lazily after taking a brief look at the clock. When I turned back around, his forehead was against mine, eyes begging me to make a move. I only moved my face to the side, taking a sip of the alcohol and wincing. "What the hell is this?" I coughed out.

"I don't know, my dad had it in the cellar. It's from 1801. Aren't you gonna move on from him?"

"No. I just want to be sad. Forever."

"Shut up," he whispered, lips falling onto mine. I reciprocated briefly, just so he'd back off and feel pleased for a second. Quietly, I took a gulp of whatever that was- it could've been Thomas Jefferson's piss, for all I cared.

I found all my relief from Mark temporarily, in ephemeral, precarious things. I found it in not only alcohol and weed, but I found it in Jinyoung, too. He was a trust fund baby from upper Manhattan, though he was usually somewhere in one of his many ski chalets in Switzerland. He provided me with drugs and the like, but he also offered the interactions I'd been craving from Mark. It was a mutually beneficial agreement we had, yet I don't know why he was so caught up with me, there's no way he didn't know that the whole time I was wishing he was Mark instead. Jinyoung wanted me almost as much as I wanted reconciliation, maybe because I didn't pander to him like most of the suck-ups in his daily life.

He was one of quite a few, if I'm being honest. However, he was the only reoccurring person I chose to lose myself in, for reasons unknown to me, even. Jinyoung had something particular about him. A certain melancholy in his voice that I appreciated somehow. A certain kind of uncertainty in his eyes. These were things that I had fallen for, once upon a time. This time, I chose not to dig deeper, I chose not to know the reasons for these particular things, I chose not to immerse myself as I had done before.

Jinyoung was on my neck by the time I had set the glass down, finishing my mental apologies to Mark, even though he wouldn't think twice about it. We weren't in a relationship anymore after all, right? Every night I still apologized, I couldn't help it.

I took a long drag of the joint, feeling Jinyoung's hands unbuttoning my black shirt, hands roughly rubbing over the bulge in my pants. God, he always won this stupid game, it was like a cycle. I put my hand on his wrist to stop him, telling him that it was time to go to the bedroom if he was gonna have his way, and he nodded, clothes coming off on our way there.

Jinyoung hovered over me as I lied down, and I could see him clearly despite the darkness of my room. He looked up from where he was, meeting my eyes as I quickly closed them. My hand gripped Jinyoung's hair, and I remembered how that was just Mark's favorite thing in the whole world, for whatever reason. I pulled harder, expecting to hear Mark's breathy moan, but Jinyoung snapped me out of it with an angry scoff.

"Careful, you think I'm some dog?" He huffed, and I took my hand out of his hair, resting it by my side. I looked down again, feeling his hands get to work. I saw that the sides of his nails were discolored; he bit them, too. I couldn't help but search for Mark in every part of him. I closed my eyes, resting my head on the pillow and imagining Mark's lips, his tongue, his hands. His words, God, they sent me reeling. He adored those obscene whispers, took them in like oxygen. It was only natural that I grew to love them, too.

_"W-wait, Jaebum, I'm not sure about this."_

_"Really? Are you alright? Did I do something?"_

_"No. It's just...you're probably a lot more experienced."_

_"Oh. I'll take it slow. If it's too soon, then we don't have t-"_

_"It's not too soon. Just don't make fun of me if I...get shy."_

_"Y'know, I love shy boys."_

_"Turn off the lights."_

_"Why?"_

_"My face is red."_

_"Hey, I bet you'll do really well, Mark."_

_"Tell me more. Tell me how...I'll m-I'll make you feel good."_

_"You're supposed to be shy? I doubt it."_

It's painful to think of all the things I know about him. It's not voluntary. It just happens. I was walking through the vinyl store and it rushed back to me, that his favorite singer was Damien Rice, how he'd cry to Accidental Babies, even though I was there with him. Holding him, loving him- and I'm not able to do that anymore. And it bothers me sometimes to see the grass in Central Park, because he loved green. Said it made him feel calm when I wasn't with him. He was this...ball of anxiety, all over the place, but you'd never guess it. He composed himself so well.

It hurts to carry around all this information, because you get to know someone so well until you stop knowing them. And all you know now is who they were, and not who they became, because you aren't there for that. He had this big project for a science competition last week. I had it marked on my calendar ever since he told me the date last year. I don't know if he even won or anything. And I won't know about it once he goes on to save the world. But I know his favorite dog breed, and his allergies, and the fact that he sometimes leaves the window open before going to sleep because he likes the cold. I know that his socks never match, that whenever he got up in the middle of the night he'd kiss my cheek and search for my hand under the covers, that I wanted that back, for God's sake.

My inadequacy had every little bit to do with how we fell apart. He was so incredibly promising, and as it was when we ended things, my band was just a group of dumb college kids, for all the city knew. We'd been taking off recently, and now I'm promising too, but he never got to know that. He wasn't there for our big break or the first recording session, and he won't be there for our first tour. Because as far as he knows, I'm still some depressed fuck of a lead singer. I don't blame him, I was holding him back, but if he could just see what we could be now, I'd give anything for that.

We didn't match. At all. But he used to remind me that his socks weren't matching, yet he liked them just fine. Because though we didn't match, we were still perfect. As perfect as two opposites could be. There'd be conflicts that would build up, and once again, I was a constant reminder that he was moving up in the world. As long as I was there he would have it in the back of his mind that he'd have to move on at one time or another.

_"How could you do that stuff?"_

_"What? Smoke?"_

_"Yeah, you can't think straight on it."_

_"I don't need to think, I'm a singer."_

_"Don't put yourself down like that."_

_"I hate myself, I need Markie to gimme a kiss and make it better."_

_"Don't...talk in that voice, ew. And since when have you called me 'Markie?'"_

_"Markie!"_

_"Ok, c'mere."_

It was another one of those nights. Jinyoung was off in Europe skiing to his rich heart's content. The rain was pouring, as it had begun to do in the recent nights after my performances, just as a big 'fuck you' to me, I guess.

I scrolled through my messages, looking for someone else to keep me company, but decided against it, because I knew that I never really wanted it. It was just a night to be lonely. I laid down on the couch and finished the liquor I had before peacefully closing my eyes and resting. Maybe it was the first step to getting over Mark. To just be alone for a while.

But I didn't get the chance to do that as a loud knocking came on my door, startling me. I stood up, disoriented, and trudged towards the door, opening it with a yawn that got caught in my throat.

His blonde hair clung tightly to his forehead, soaked from the rain. His eyes were scared and apprehensive, like what he was doing could've been the worst idea in the world. He opened his mouth to speak, a shuddery breath falling in the place of words.

"I..." he began, and wide-eyed, I watched as his tears began to surface. "I can't do this without you," he struggled out, looking down. "Even if it's too late, I want you to know that I'm sorry."

I only looked at him as he bowed his head, still dripping from the rain. My eyes scanned his face, his flushed cheeks, and red nose. How could he possibly not be all right without me in his way? I looked at his fingers, and from the bloody patterns on his skin, I could see that the past months were some of his worst. I remembered that in his darkest times, he had me. I remembered the times I helped him through the stress he had the night before a big test or clinical. He was his usual anxious self, and I was there for him, the calm boyfriend. It was a clear, resounding example of how we were opposites. Of how we worked.

He went four months without this balance, and while he suffered I spent all the time thinking he was thriving, forgetting that he had troubles too.

I hugged him tightly before he could wait any longer, pulling him into my apartment. We sunk down to the floor and I took a deep breath, holding him there as he cried into my chest. He sobbed out a series of apologies and I forgave each one. I knew the talk we were bound to have that night would be a long one. I knew we had a lot to catch up on, and a lot to be both proud of and sorry for. I knew that moving forward, we'd fall back into all the beautiful things we were accustomed to, we'd begin to know that we were still in love that whole time.

His arms were around me, my hands stroking his soaked hair and we just hugged each other, found strength in each other.

Like we used to.


End file.
